Why the Walls are White
by CapNicholls
Summary: When his father leaves on a cruise, Boromir is left in charge of the city. He plans to run things a little differently than Denethor. A crazy week is in store!
1. Chapter 1

_Sad to say, I own none of this._

 **WHY THE WALLS ARE WHITE**

"Faramir! Hey, Faramir!"

12-year old Faramir looked up from the book he was reading to see his brother Boromir grinning at him from the doorway. Boromir sauntered into Faramir's room and flopped into a chair.

"Guess what? Pop's going on a cruise!"

Faramir almost fell out of his chair. "Father? _Our_ father on a cruise?!"

Boromir laughed at the look on his brother's face. "Yeah! It's going to be great! We won't have to study our school books, we won't have to eat our vegetables; this is going to be the best week _ever_!"

Faramir wasn't so sure. "Surely father has appointed our uncle Imrahil to take his place while he's gone – he will definitely make us eat our vegetables."

"Wait 'til I tell you!" Boromir swelled with pride. "Father has appointed me to take his place while he's gone!"

This time, Faramir really did fall out of his chair. "Father…you…steward…GONDOR?!"

Boromir just laughed and nodded.

"But…but…you're _fourteen_! We'll never survive! The city will be felled to the ground after a day! Did father take a knock on the head that he would suggest such a preposterous thing?!"

"Ha, ha," Boromir said, but he was too happy to let it get to him. He started to stroll out. "Pop's leaving tomorrow. I can't wait 'til you see what I have planned!"

He left as Faramir tried to start breathing again.


	2. Chapter 2

Faramir and Boromir stood by their father's carriage as Denethor made sure he had all his luggage packed. When he was sure all his junk…er, _stuff_ was there, he turned to Boromir.

"Take care of the city while I'm away. I'm sure you'll make the right choices about everything." He patted Boromir on the head. "Farewell, my son."

Boromir nodded solemnly. "Good-bye, father." But when Denethor turned to Faramir, he started laughing silently. Oh, Denethor had made a _huge_ mistake putting Boromir in charge of the entire city for a week! And Boromir was going to enjoy every minute of his father's mistake.

Faramir straightened when his father turned to him, hoping his father would at least say good-bye to him as well.

Denethor just scowled and got into his carriage.

Faramir sighed, but his heart lifted when his father poked his head out the window as the carriage pulled away.

"Remember, Boromir: think like me and you'll never fail!"

Faramir deflated again as Denethor pulled his head back in the carriage and rode away.

Boromir patted his brother on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Faramir. Father likes you…he just likes me better."

Faramir rolled his eyes. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

Boromir just shrugged as he started to jog back to the castle. "Come on, little bro. I'll let you pick what color lawn furniture we're getting."

Faramir nodded, then realized what Boromir had said. He stopped. "We're getting _lawn_ _furniture_?"

Boromir turned back to look at Faramir and grinned. "Pop never said we couldn't. And after all-I'm the big cheese this week." He laughed and continued back to the castle.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to Pip the Dark Lord of all for reviewing, and to DeYi & WeilIchsKann for following!

After the servants had arranged the new, rainbow-colored lawn furniture to Boromir's liking, Boromir had collapsed in the throne.

"Oh, being a steward is such a hard job!" he moaned.

Just then, a servant came into the room, bowed, and said, "Your lunch of caviar and escargot, as you requested, sire, is ready." He bowed deeply again and left the room.

Faramir stared at his brother. "You requested _escargot_ and _caviar_?"

Boromir shrugged and said, "It's one of Father's favorites. I thought I'd try it."

Faramir didn't know if he should groan or laugh. Boromir would probably pound him if he did either one. "Do you even know what escargot is?"

"Well-I-it's-" Boromir cleared his throat. "Um…let's just go eat it." He muttered under his breath, "What-ever it is."

Once seated, Faramir, who'd asked for a cheeseburger for lunch, began eating immediately. Boromir bit into his fish eggs and snails, turned green, and guzzled his glass of grape juice. (The cook had put his foot down at Boromir's request for wine, forcing him to settle for grape juice instead.)

"I-I-uh, Horin?" he looked at one of the servants, turned red, glanced at Faramir, and mumbled, "I'll take a cheeseburger, too."

Walls Are White

Faramir took a deep breath and bellowed. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOROMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR!"

Boromir snorted awake from his royal nap on the throne. "Huh? Whazzat? Whozzere?"

Faramir rolled his eyes. "It's me, Boromir."

Boromir looked confused for a second. "Oh! Modrin! I was just-I was-" Boromir tried to look dignified, which is a hard thing to do when you're half asleep.

"No, Boromir-it's me, me. Faramir."

"Fara-? Oh." Boromir realized it was just his brother, and slouched in the chair again. "What is it?" he asked, yawning.

"What is it? Boromir, it's almost noon! You've been sleeping for hours! I've been up since dawn!"

"Well, being steward of Gondor is hard work…not that you would know." Boromir got cranky when he was tired, and he did not want to admit that he'd been up until one a.m. playing cards with one of the servants.

Faramir squinted at him. "You were up until one playing cards, weren't you?"

"Why…how…no! Of course not! That's preposterous!" Boromir spluttered.

Faramir smirked. "You were."

"I-I-" Boromir sighed. "Okay, _fine_. _Yes_ , I was playing cards until one o'clock. Happy?"

"Well, the furniture company isn't. They're demanding that you pay them straight away for the lawn chairs you ordered, or they said it could get ugly. And it could you know. After all, the company you bought the furniture from is Rohanian."

Boromir leapt to his feet and pumped his fist in the air. "Well, if they want war, they'll get _**war**_!"

"They don't want war! They just want you to pay them!"

Boromir grumbled a little bit longer, then finally said, "Fine. How much are they asking?"

Faramir told him the price and Boromir jumped to his feet. "That's an outrageous price!" He roared. "I say _**WAAAAAAR**_!"

"No! They don't want war! You just have to pay them! You should have checked the price before you bought the furniture!"

"I still say war! Imagine how proud Father would be if I won a whole war while he was away!" Boromir grinned and rubbed his hands together, thinking.

"Imagine how _angry_ Father would be when he found out you started a war while he was away!"

Boromir paused. "True," he admitted. He sighed. "…Have the treasurer pay them."

 _Please review! Thanks!_


	4. Chapter 4

During that afternoon, Faramir, who had been reading in the very tiny garden, was walking towards the castle to get a glass of water. He saw Boromir looking thoughtfully up at the gray walls of the castle.

"What is it?" asked Faramir, looking at the spot where his brother was staring. There was nothing particularly special about that spot on the wall, and he didn't know why Boromir was so interested in it.

"I was just thinking…"

Faramir gasped. "Really? You were…you were… _thinking_?!" He pumped his brother's hand up and down. "Congratulations, Boromir!"

Boromir smacked a laughing Faramir lightly on the side of the head. "Ha, ha, ha. Seriously, I thought maybe we could… _redecorate_."

Something about the way Boromir said 'redecorate' made Faramir think he didn't just mean hanging up curtains in the Great Hall.

"What do you mean… _redecorate_?"

"Oh, I dunno…I'll think of something."

Faramir suspected that Boromir already had something in mind.

Walls Are White

The next morning, Faramir was awakened by a loud knock on his bedroom door. He groaned. "Coming…hold on…" He got out of bed and glanced in the mirror as he stumbled to the door. His hair was all rumpled and he tried to comb it down, but no avail. He sighed and opened the door.

Boromir came bounding in, looking fatter than usual.

"Boromir!" Faramir stared at his brother's wide girth. "You've gained weight!"

"No, I haven't," Boromir said. He closed the door, grinned, and opened his coat. Faramir gasped. Boromir had about twenty cans of spray paint hidden under his coat.

"Where'd you get that stuff! I didn't know it was even legal in Gondor anymore!"

"It isn't," Boromir said, not looking the least bit guilty.

"Then how did _you_ get some?! More importantly, what are you planning to do with it?"

Boromir smirked. "It's called the _Black_ _Market_ , 'lil bro."

Faramir's eyes widened and his mouth flapped open and closed, but no sound came out. He was too flabbergasted to speak. "You…you're… _illegal_?!"

Boromir laughed. "Re _lax_ , little bro." He emptied the contents of his coat onto Faramir's bed and began to rummage through all the colors of spray paint he had illegally bought. "It's not like I'm in _that_ deep with the law. In fact, _I make_ the law. This week, Boromir is da big cheese! Ooh, look at this color: 'Tomato Paste Red'."

Faramir put his head in his hands. "That's the color Father's going to turn when he finds out about this!"

"Ah, Popsy never gets upset with me." Boromir gave a sideways glance to Faramir. "You, on the other hand…"

"Wha-?! Ungh…" Faramir collapsed onto the ground.

Boromir stared for a second, then broke into a smile, "Well, that went over better than expected. The sheer awesomeness of my plan just blew him over!"

He gathered up all the spray paint, and was about to go to his room to put the finishing touches on his grand plan, when he saw Faramir still lying conked-out on the ground.

Boromir sighed. "Guess I'd better not leave him there." He dropped the spray paint, grabbed Faramir and tossed him onto the bed. Well, he tried to toss him onto the bed. But Faramir was lighter than expected and he sailed over the bed and crashed into the wall on the other side of the room.

Boromir stared for a moment, shrugged, "I tried," stuffed the spray paint in his coat, and went to his room to conjure up the rest of his devious plot.


	5. Chapter 5

Walls Are White

"Faramir! Come on, wake up, 'lil bro!"

Someone was shaking him. "Just five more minutes…"

"Come on! Wake up!"

Faramir rolled on his side. Then he realized he wasn't in his royal bed. He was lying on the wooden floor! Why was he there? Huh. He didn't remember falling asleep on the floor. Whatever. He looked up and saw who was standing over him. He groaned. "No. Not you. Not again…"

"You're right as rain it's me! Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Not really, no. At least not at this hour of the night…what time _is_ it anyway?"

"About midnight. If we want to decorate, we'll have to do it now!"

"…What if I _don't_ want to decorate?"

Boromir put his 'King Face' on. "I order you to get up and help me...now!"

Faramir groaned again. Why, oh _why_ did Boromir enjoy causing trouble so much?

Boromir turned to leave, hiding a smile as he heard a sigh and a creak and a 'pop-pop-pop!' as Faramir got up, crossed the room, and stretched. Somehow, he always got Faramir to join him in whatever mischief he was about to cause.

Walls Are White

Denethor took a sip of his coconut milk, then spit it out, gagging. He turned to his attendant, a young hobbit who squeaked in fright and horror anytime Denethor so much as twitched an eyebrow…and Denethor, being the pompous king he was, did a LOT of eyebrow-twitching.

"What is this disgusting stuff?" Denethor asked, twirling the little umbrella that came with the drink.

"I-I-It's…coconut…milk…s-sir," The little hobbit stammered.

Denethor sat straight up in his hammock, causing his coconut milk to spill everywhere and the little hobbit to almost faint from fright. "That's ' _Your Royal Highness, Mighty Steward of Gondor'_ to you!''

That did it. The little hobbit sank to the ground in a faint.

Denethor leaned back in his hammock. So far, this cruise hadn't been bad. As soon as he'd gotten on, he'd found out that his cabin was a very large room with a king – size canopy bed, mini refrigerator, futon, and a hot tub. And the meals weren't too bad – actually, they were quite good – but Denethor would never admit that. But something kept nagging at the back of his mind. He wasn't worried at all that Boromir would do something wrong. Of course not! Boromir was as good of a steward as Denethor! His brother on the other hand…he might cause a problem. Denethor had never liked his second son. Faramir wasn't a warrior like Boromir was. He was a lowly scholar. Why did you need books, when all that mattered was if you could fight in a war to defend Gondor? Faramir couldn't even lift an ax - he could barely wield a sword. Denethor could have him sent off to a boarding school, of course, but that would mean other people would find out about him – something Denethor did not want to happen. He'd rather keep Faramir in the castle where no one knew he was there – or that he even existed, for that matter. People would whisper and laugh if they knew about Faramir, and Denethor would like to keep at least _some_ of his dignity, thank you very much!

Ah, well. Denethor would just relax on this vacation – that was why he'd come, after all: to forget that he even had a second son.

Trying to take his mind off his sons, Denethor flagged down a passing waiter. "Waiter, bring me a coke!"


	6. Chapter 6

Boromir stepped back to inspect his work. Yes, that would do nicely.

He picked up his walkie-talkie. "Faramir! How're you doing at your end?"

There was a pause, then Faramir's voice came through the radio. "It's…um, okay."

"Well?" Boromir asked, bouncing on his toes. "Details, I want details!"

"I painted Fury," [Fury was Faramir's jousting horse-What? You didn't know Faramir jousted? Hey, when your father is steward of Gondor, you do a lot of things that you don't exactly want to do.]

"…And I painted Fred-" [his frog] "-and Fatima-" [cat] "-and Frank-" [mouse] "-and Fran." [Tarantula]

[Yeah, Faramir had this thing about his pets having names that started with the same letter his name started with.]

"What? You didn't paint me? Me, Boromir, the big cheese of the week?"

"Well, I already painted you on the other wall, so I figured-"

"No, no, no! There should be a picture of me on every wall in Gondor! Go to it!"

"But-"

"No 'buts' about it! It's almost dawn, and people will see us!"

"So maybe we should _stop_!"

"Never!" Boromir thundered. "Repeat after me, bro: we are overachievers!"

"Boromir…"

"Just say it!"

There was a sigh, and, after a pause, a mumbled "we are overachievers".

"Good! Now start believing it!"

He clicked off his walkie-talkie before Faramir could protest.

He sighed contentedly. Ah, it was good to have a brother he could boss around.

 _ **SORRY THIS CHAPTER'S SO SHORT!**_


	7. Chapter 7

Rosalina yawned and stretched as she sat up in bed.

"Rosa!" Her mother called. "I need you to run to the market for me."

Rosa sighed. "Yes, mum."

She got out of bed, changed quickly, and went to the kitchen. "Here," her mother said, handing her a few coins, "I need a bushel of apples."

Rosa nodded, and ran out, barefoot. She didn't like shoes. Her mother would yell at her when she got back, but she didn't care. Suddenly she stopped. "Mum!"

"What is it, Rosa?"

"Come quick!"

Her mother hurried out of the house and over to Rosalina. "What is it? What happened?"

"Look!" Rosa pointed to the wall that stood outside of her house. She'd seen it every day of her life; it was gray and ugly. But today it was full of color! Someone had painted it during the night!

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Her mother's eyes were wide. "Oh, someone will hang for this." She closed her eyes and swallowed. "Come back inside, Rosalina."

"But you said to-"

"I know, but we can live without a few apples. Come inside."

She led her daughter inside. Oh, when the king heard about this, he would be furious…and it wasn't even King Denethor, it was his son! Young, and inexperienced. He would be on the warpath … _heads will roll_ … she thought.

Faramir crouched behind a dumpster, watching all this through a pair of binoculars. He picked up his walkie-talkie. "Boromir?"

There was a pause, then his walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Yeah, wassup, 'lil bro?"

Faramir rolled his eyes. "Could you _please_ stop calling me that?"

"No! Now what've you got?"

Faramir sighed. "Well, this girl just walked out, and her mother just about blew her top, 'cos we painted the walls. She thinks you're about to murder whoever did it."

"Aw, don't believe rumors like that, Faramir! I'd never kill you! You're too entertaining! I would get bored!"

"Well _that's_ good to know."

"You'd better come back to the castle, 'lil bro."

"How come?"

"You'll see!"

"What else do you have planned? Haven't we caused _enough_ trouble for one week?"

Boromir gasped. "Faramir, one can never cause too much trouble! You've lived with me for your whole life, and you haven't figured that out yet?"

"I make an effort not to…"

"Bro, we've still got three days to cause trouble!"

"Doesn't mean we have to use them…"

"Sure we do!"

Faramir sighed. " _Fine_. What do you want to do now?"

"C'mon back and I'll tell you."

Faramir clicked his walkie-talkie off and headed back to the castle, dreading what his brother had planned.


	8. Chapter 8

I'd just like to say I'm really sorry I haven't posted anything in a long time!

Boromir greeted his brother as he walked through the palace doors. "Good! You made it back in record time!"

"You were timing me?"

"Sure I was! And usually when I call you back to the castle to do something, it takes you thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds to come back. This time, it only took you thirteen minutes and forty- _one_ seconds!"

"Gee, that's great. What did you need me back so fast for?"

"Well, I figure that Pops is gonna be pretty upset about the walls, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So, to cheer him up, I got him… _this_!" Boromir held up a black tee-shirt that read:

POPS:

 _THE MAN._

 _ **THE MYTH.**_

 _ **THE LEGEND.**_

"Well? Do you think he'll like it?"

"It's from you; of course he'll like it. But if he'll _wear_ it is a different story entirely."

"Eh, it doesn't matter if he'll _wear_ it or not – just so long as he likes it enough to not punish us."

Faramir shook his head. Sometimes – actually it was more like _all_ the time – he didn't understand his brother. "Alright, so the plan is to give him the tee-shirt, then _POOF!_ Everything will be better?"

"Sure!"

"Seriously?"

"Hey, you got a better idea?"

Faramir sighed. He _seriously_ didn't think this gift would make Denethor any happier. But hey, if a tee-shirt _might_ just get him out of a week in the broom closet, he was willing to try it.

"Whatever. When are you going to give it to him?"

Boromir pondered that for a moment. "Sometime before he finds out I put Kool-Aid in the shower-heads."

"You _what!_? Those are _diamond_ showerheads! They'll be _ruined_! Do you know how much those cost?!"

"Eh," Boromir waved it off. "I ordered three more boxfuls of them."

"Wait – just how many showerheads did you put Kool-Aid in?"

Boromir looked at him like he was crazy. "Well, _all_ of them, obviously. There are three hundred and twenty-four showerheads in this castle. If I only put Kool-Aid in one, the chances of him getting blasted by it are…" He paused, doing math in his head. "Are…are…well, a lot to one!"

"And we want him to get blasted by it _because_ …?"

"Because…because…well, you don't need an explanation for everything! In fact, some things are better left unsaid! Now," he said, rubbing his hands together, "let's eat!"


	9. Chapter 9

Denethor grumbled under his breath as the cruise attendant helped him down off the ship and onto the seashore. Then he thought better of it – why grumble under his breath when he could holler out loud and let everyone know how mad he was? So he did that instead. The cruise attendant did _not_ look pleased. That made Denethor feel a teeny tiny bit better.

But _boy_ was Denethor mad. The ship had just broken down; luckily they were by shore.

Unluckily, the captain had said they would have to live with the natives of this island until they were rescued.

Live with the natives? _**LIVE WITH THE NATIVES!**_ _What if they were savage?_ Did the captain of the ship care if they were eaten alive, or had to drink seawater? Of course not! That snobby, stuck up captain! Denethor _knew_ he shouldn't have trusted him.

But it was too late now.

So there he was; the high, esteemed Denethor, living with the natives of…of…what was this island called, anyway?

Eh, who knew; who cared? ['No one' is the correct answer.]

But the captain had assured the passengers that, while the ship had broken down, the staff and crew were still at their service. So, just to show off the control he still had, Denethor yelled, "Waiter! Go back on that broken down old tub, and find me a cup of coffee!"

So sorry this is so short! Life's a little crazy. Next chapter's coming…er, um….at some point in my life. I don't know when…sorry, mates.


	10. Chapter 10

"Alright," Boromir said, while crunching on a corn dog. [Faramir had told him repeatedly that corn dogs were _not_ breakfast food, but Boromir had waved it off and said, "It's all in the plan, 'lil bro; who's the king, here?" …meaning he simply wanted it and didn't have an excuse to eat it.]

"I figure, including today, we have four days left to cause–"

"Mass destruction," Faramir groaned with his head in his hands.

"– _Joy_ and _happiness_ to the fine people of Gondor."

"Admit it, Boromir: it's mass destruction."

"Is _not_! For instance: look at what I have planned for tonight!" He rolled out a giant, hand-drawn map on the dining room table. "Look! See, what I did, was hire a-"

"Boromir," Faramir said slowly, hoping he wasn't understanding what he was seeing. "Why did you draw a map of a carnival?"

Boromir grinned. "Alright. So, as we know from our little spy mission this morning, people are worried that Popsy will be mad about the walls, right?"

"Which he will be."

"Well, yeah, he will be. But we have to lift their spirits a little! So _we_ , little brother, are hosting…" He passed for dramatic effect. "A…carnival! With an attached circus!"

Faramir was at a loss for words.

"Well?" Boromir asked. "What do you think? The people will love it, right?"

"Boromir, Father will be furious if you host a carnival-"

"-With attached circus!-"

"-While he's gone. Think about it: you already racked up the bill with the lawn furniture [which doesn't do us much good as it is, because if you haven't noticed, our lawn is small enough for the servants to cut it with scissors], then you bought the spray paint from the black market – how much did you have to pay them, by the way, to stay quiet?"

"Erm," Boromir looked slightly uncomfortable. "I'd rather not say."

"Exactly. And now a _carnival_?"

"With attached-"

" _Circus!_ Yes, I _know,_ Boromir!" Faramir took some deep breaths to calm himself.

"Well, he won't be _that_ angry…with me at least," Boromir muttered under his breath.

"See, that's just it! _I'll_ get blamed for this! And you…he'll just let you off the hook like you had nothing to do with it!"

" _That's_ because, dear brother mine, I _didn't_ have anything to do with it."

Faramir knew something fishy was up. "What do you mean, you 'didn't have anything to do with it'? You ordered the lawn furniture-"

"-Which I made sure _you_ picked the color for-"

"-You bought the spray paint-"

"-Under your name-"

"-You spray-painted the walls-"

"-But you painted most of them-"

"- _And_ you put Kool-Aid in the diamond showerheads!"

"But not according to father!" Boromir argued.

Faramir was beyond frustration. "What do you mean?"

"By the time I get through telling the story, Pops will have blamed this whole thing on you."

Faramir took that moment to do some deep-breathing exercises.

Boromir patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Faramir; I'll make sure he doesn't give you cranberry juice when he sticks you in the closet."


	11. Chapter 11

The rest of the day was a blur to Faramir. His brother had gotten him into trouble with his father before, but this was bigger than anything they'd pulled so far. Something like this would get him a month, maybe two, in the closet. And possibly a whipping as well.

Why? Why, oh, _why_ couldn't he have had a normal brother that didn't cause trouble and pin it on him? Was it so much to ask?

Apparently it was.

Faramir was outside looking over the city, breathing what he was sure would be his last breaths as he saw in the distance, a small caravan coming towards the castle at a rapid pace. He dreaded the thought of what his father would do to him _before_ he killed him. He hoped it wouldn't be too painful, and that his death would be swift. But this was Denethor, who had a flair for the dramatics, so a pain-free death was unlikely.

"Hey, Faramir!" An all too familiar voice called to him. Faramir pretended not to hear. "Have you tried the orange sherbet? It's the _bomb_!"

Faramir glared at his brother, who was walking over to him, holding bowl of sherbet.

"I hope you don't mean literally, but I'm not going to get my hopes up, because this is you we're talking about."

"Ah, brother," Boromir said, leaning an elbow on Faramir's shoulder, "you know me too well. BOMBS AWAY!"

"No!" Faramir leaped to grab the bowl as Boromir was about to toss it over the wall.

Boromir laughed. "You're too easy, Faramir." He continued to eat his sherbet that wasn't really a bomb and peered over the wall. "Whatcha lookin' at?"

"My death." Boromir looked confused, so Faramir explained. "Father's caravan's coming."

"Really? Uh-oh…it was nice knowin' ya, Faramir."

Faramir glared at him with everything he had. "I'm pacifist? Know that?" He got louder. "And I'm about to pass a fist across your face!"

Boromir looked taken aback, and impressed. "Whoa, chill out 'lil bro." He frowned. "But if that's Pops, that means no circus tonight! That's not fair!"

"Wait a minute…Boromir, where are your binoculars?"

"Right here, why?"

"Give 'em here."

Boromir shrugged, but pulled the binoculars from around his neck and handed them to Faramir who held them up to his eyes and looked out at the caravan.

A look of relief spread across Faramir's face and he laughed. "It's not Father! It's not him! It's…" he squinted. "…Rohan?"

"Rohan! Let me see." Boromir grabbed the binoculars out of Faramir's hands and held them up to his eyes, cutting off Faramir's air supply in the process. "Huh. Why's Rohan coming?"

Faramir wheezed a little, and Boromir glanced over. "Oops!" He let go of the binoculars, and the strap that had been around Faramir's neck loosened. Faramir collapsed, gasping for breath.

Boromir took no notice and started pacing around, something he'd seen his father do when he was thinking hard about something. "If Rohan's coming, that means trouble. Because they never come to Gondor unless it's an emergency." He stroked his imaginary goatee, then snapped. "I got it! I be there's been a famine in Rohan, and they want Gondor's kind, generous, good-looking, and _ever_ so humble steward to help them out!"

"Father?" Faramir asked, once he'd gotten his breath back.

"No, you dimwit!" Boromir cried. "Me!"

"Yeah, okay, so what do you plan on doing about it?"

"I'll…I'll have the servants get father's best robes, and I'll put those on, and sit on the throne and look regal, and make them bow to me and _everything_!"

"Boromir, I'm pretty sure Rohan wouldn't be coming all this way with one tiny caravan to get food for their entire city. A famine's probably not the problem."

"Well, I can still sit on the throne and look kingly!"

Before Boromir had time to say more, they heard a horn blow from the caravan far below them, then a yell.

"Denethor!"

Faramir and his brother peeked over the wall.

There was the caravan, parked right in front of the walls of Gondor. The guards obviously weren't letting them in. And someone was standing next to one of the carriages, looking up at Boromir and Faramir.

Boromir gulped. Théoden. King of Rohan. And he did _not_ look happy.

"Uh…Denethor's not here! Please leave a message with the palace guards!" he shouted back nervously.

Théoden walked over to one of the guards standing in front of the doors and spoke with him briefly for a moment, then stepped back and looked up at Boromir, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Boromir! I must speak with you!"

"Um…what about?"

"Lawn furniture."

Boromir stopped looking over the wall and crouched behind it, where his brother had retreated as soon as Théoden had started yelling. "Lawn furniture? What's he talking about?"

"I don't know. You had the treasurer pay them, right?"

"I told _you_ to have the treasurer pay them!"

"I thought you said _you_ would!"

Boromir groaned. He stood back up and peered over the wall down at Théoden. "It seems as though we've had a slight misunderstanding-" he kicked Faramir, "-but you'll have your money in no time, so if you could just crawl back to whatever hole you came from – uh, I mean, if you would kindly ride back to that wonderful city of yours, we'd-"

But Théoden was shaking his head. "It cannot be done. It is custom for our people to declare war when we feel like it. So I, Théoden King, declare, on you, Boromir, Steward-of-Gondor-for-the-week…WAR!"

And with that, Théoden jammed his helmet on his head, climbed into his carriage, and rode away.

Boromir stared at the trail of dust that the rapidly departing caravan was leaving behind it.

Faramir poked his head over the wall and saw that Théoden was gone. "Congratulations, Boromir. You said Father would be impressed if you won a war while he was away, but I didn't think you'd actually try. So now what do we do, oh Steward?"

"I…um…well…"

"Oh, yes, thank you, Boromir, that's sure to work." Faramir screamed internally. Why? Why on earth couldn't Boromir just be a normal, sane Gondorian? He paused and realized that 'sane Gondorian' was an oxymoron. Oh well. "Look, let's just tell Théoden that we don't want war, and–"

"What? Are you nutso, little brother?" Boromir suddenly had his voice back. "We're not backing down from a challenge!"

"Boromir, this isn't some game to play! People will _die_ if you decide to fight Rohan!"

"But people on Rohan's side will die too! It evens out the score!"

Faramir almost punched his brother right then and there, but forced himself to very calmly, and very dignifiedly walk back to his room, sit at the desk, and slam his head against it a few times.

Why – slam! – in – slam! – the – slam! – world?!– Slam! Why couldn't Boromir just stay away from danger? Slam! Why did he have to be such a fool? Slam! Why couldn't Faramir just run away? Sla- Wait a minute. That actually wasn't such a bad idea.

Faramir sat up and rubbed the red welt on his forehead. If he could somehow sneak out of Gondor and get to Rohan before Théoden came to start a war, maybe he could stop the whole thing! But if he was going to do it, he'd have to go _now_.

"Sorry, Boromir," he said, slipping out of his room, "but you won't be starting a war on _my_ watch."


	12. Chapter 12

Denethor grumbled as he was helped into the speedboat. This was absolutely humiliating!

The natives of the island had turned out to be 'friendly', according to the captain of the cruise ship, but Denethor called them rude and hostile. They hadn't offered him anything to drink, or even a chair to sit in while they waited for the lifeboat to come. So the high, esteemed, good-looking, and _very_ humble Denethor had to sit in the sand – _in the sand!–_ while they waited.

Then finally, when the cruise attendants had come around with drinks, the only thing left was hot chocolate. Didn't they know he was sweltering in the heat? He was the high, distinguished Steward! If he was caught sweating, it would be the end of his career!

So he'd barked at them to get him a glass of water, and they surprisingly obliged. He'd spewed it out as soon as he tasted it – saltwater! He swore, if these had been his servants, they would have been lit on fire & pushed off the ledge– Denethor's favorite way of killing.

But the nightmare was all over now. He was safe in the Gondor Coastguard's speedboat, speeding towards the shores of Gondor. [He was the only passenger on the speedboat– he'd made sure of that.] They wouldn't get there until the next day, the coastguard had explained, but they had enough fuel to last them a long time, so they were fine.

Denethor settled himself down in his chair– he'd made sure he got the cushy chair– and closed his eyes. But he was only resting them. After all, Stewards don't take naps.


	13. Chapter 13

Boromir licked his fingers and tossed the cotton candy stick onto the ground. The carnival was a big hit; everybody was loving it. He wondered, not for the first time, where his brother was. He hadn't seen Faramir since about five o'clock that evening, after he'd gotten all huffy about fighting with Rohan. Boromir didn't see the big deal. It was just a war.

He strolled by a hot dog stand, snagging a hot dog. When the vendor asked for payment, Boromir just stuck out his chest, which had a homemade badge on it that read: _I'm Steward of the Week. Bow, Peasant._

Needless to say, nobody made him pay for anything. So Boromir was on his tenth hot dog, sixth cotton candy, and third mega-sized coke.

Biting into his hot dog and 'accidentally' squirting mustard all over a peasant passer-byer, he eyed the sign over the roller coaster that said 'Fiery Death'. That sounded cool. And if the line was long, he would just flash his snazzy badge, and everyone would part, and he would stroll through like Moses going through the Red Sea. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

He heard some clanking behind him and rolled his eyes as two guards tried to catch up with him. He'd said he wanted bodyguards at the carnival that night– after all, you never know when a psycho peasant might attack you.

But they just couldn't keep up with all their armor. So Boromir usually strolled off, and they were left to carry the giant teddy bear he'd won at the bottle-throwing game, and the life-sized stuffed giraffe he'd won at the drinking booth. [The only reason he'd won was because he wasn't allowed to have ale, so he had birch beer instead. But no one needed to know that. Especially not the other competitors.]

He'd gone into the Freak Show Fun House earlier; his favorite was the 'World's Shortest Man'. The little guy was only about three feet tall. Boromir suspected they had used a hobbit instead of an actual man, but whatever. It was a carnival– you were _supposed_ to get gypped. That was half the fun!

Boromir passed a few of the attractions: the Tilt 'N Hurl, a giant slide, and the Maze O' Mirrors before remembering the attached circus– that would be fun to go to, and see all the clowns, unicorns, gryphons, and wizards. Boromir decided to head over; who knows, maybe it'd be interesting. So he made his way over to the Big Top, shoving his way through crowds as he went [he was sure they were all only crowded around because _he_ was there], feeling oh-so superior.

When he finally got there, the show had already started, but that was okay; Boromir had told the performers beforehand that they'd be performing all night long. They were a little shocked at having to perform for twelve whole hours, but he'd told them that it was an honor to be able to work for him, and they'd reluctantly agreed.

Now that he was watching them up close [He'd bullied a little kid into giving up his second-row seat. Boromir always liked to be in the second row; then he could put his feet up on the back of the chair in front of him, which is exactly what he was doing now], he could see that they were kind of a crummy circus; but he supposed that's what he got for ordering a carnival with an attached circus, instead of ordering them separate. But now he knew better for next time.

If there _was_ a next time, that is. After finding out his son had started a war, Boromir wasn't sure what Denethor would do; he had an unpredictable temper, and he was like an angry rhino when something didn't go his way. That was a trait he'd passed along to Boromir.

Boromir sat contemplating all the ways he could get out of being in trouble [claiming he'd been temporarily possessed was his favorite], and didn't realize that someone was tapping his shoulder.

"Hey," said the little kid he'd bullied into giving up his seat, "Hey, I want my seat back."

"Yeah, and who's gonna make me get out of it?" Boromir leaned back lazily, glanced over at the kid…and did a double take when he realized that the boy was standing next to a man. Well, Boromir _thought_ it was a man…if men could grow to be about ten feet tall and have muscles bigger than Middle-Earth itself. Boromir's jaw dropped as he quickly took his feet off the seat in front of him and stood up.

"Uh – I – um…gotta go." Boromir ran through the ring, ducked under an Oliphant's tusk, and zipped out of the circus tent. Whew! Got out of that one!

Unfortunately, he ran smack into the palace guards that had been tagging along with him, and they were _not_ happy that he had run off and made them carry his larger-than-life stuffed animals.

"Uh…Thumbs! Gonzo! What a pleasant surprise!"

"It's hard to carry a giant teddy bear when you don't have any thumbs," Thumbs told Boromir in his low, growly voice. He stuck out his hands for Boromir to see, and sure enough, the poor guy only had four fingers on each hand.

"Oops. I guess we should have nicknamed you Thumb-less instead of Thumbs, huh?" Boromir gave a weak laugh, which he quickly turned into a cough when neither of the bodyguards joined in.

Gonzo had resorted to dragging the stuffed giraffe by the head because it was too heavy to carry. He looked about as happy as Thumbs. (Which wasn't happy at all, by the way.)

Boromir thought fast. "Uh, say, Gonzo, why don't you leave the giraffe with me and go try the Tilt 'N Hurl? I hear it's a lot of fun."

Boromir and the body guards stared as a man staggered by them, having just left said ride, hand clamped over his mouth and looking very green, before diving headfirst into a bush.

"Uh. Okay, maybe not…how 'bout the Ferris Wheel? That seems more up your alley."

Just then, a guard came puffing up to Boromir. "Sire! Sire, our lookouts have just spotted a caravan of Rohan approaching!"

Oh shoot. This was _not_ good at all. "Uh…how far away are they?"

"About a day's ride, my liege!"

"Then why're you pesting me about it _now_? Pfft, we've got time."

The soldier looked taken aback. "But…what will we do, sir?"

Boromir waved him off. "Let me know when they get within an hour's walk from the castle."

"But…but…"

"C'mon, man – I've got stuff to do!"

Boromir walked off without another word. Sometimes you just had to be stern with these soldiers that thought they knew everything.

"C'mon, Gonzo, Thumbs!" he called over his shoulder to the guards, "let's go check out the roller coaster!"


	14. Chapter 14

As he sat in an empty tent surrounded by guards, Faramir decided that, next to his father, Théoden was quite possibly the most hard-headed man in Middle Earth.

Faramir'd caught up with Rohan's caravan (in record time) when they stopped to set up camp for the night and plot their attack for the next day. Théoden had welcomed him, but wouldn't listen when Faramir tried to reason with him about attacking Gondor.

"It's just some stupid lawn furniture!" Faramir'd finally shouted, which prompted Théoden to send him to the 'prisoner's tent', where he sat now– cold, annoyed, and not sure who he wanted to slap more: Théoden or Boromir.

"So help me, Boromir, when I get out of here, I'm going to kill you," Faramir muttered to himself, which caused a guard outside to say worriedly to another guard, "He's talking to himself – d'you think he's going mad already? There was that one prisoner we had that went insane in less than a week…"

"You mean that old goat from Gondor we had years ago? What was his name? Deathnair? Dethnoir?"

"Something like that," the other guard agreed. "And remember how we had to let him go because he got so crazy? I hear he's head honcho of some big city now…"

They went quiet again, wishing they weren't on prisoner watch and instead were asleep like everyone else.

Faramir was about to drift off when suddenly the tent flap flew open and Théoden stormed in, holding his helmet under his arm and swishing his cape behind him dramatically.

"So!" he shouted at Faramir, pacing up and down, stomping his feet angrily so Faramir would know he meant business. "You thought you could come here and distract me while Gondor prepares for war!"

Faramir resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sir, if my brother's in charge, Gondor's probably not going to prepare at all for this war. They'll run around like chickens with their heads cut off when you show up and won't be organized at all. They'll probably even end up fighting each other. But they'll win."

Théoden stopped pacing and squinted at Faramir. "How could they win?"

"Because that's just how Boromir rolls! He can get into more trouble in one week than most people could get into in their entire life, but he always ends up on top. Never gets the worse end of a deal. Ever."

Théoden stroked his beard and thought for a while. "Ever?" he finally asked.

"Ever."

"Huh," Théoden said, stumped.

"So," Faramir said, figuring it was now or never, "you could just call off the war, and then you wouldn't have to admit defeat at the hands of a teenage boy."

"Call off a war? Never!" For some reason, Théoden reminded Faramir of Boromir right then.

"Look," Faramir said, irritated, "people, innocent people, are just going to die if you go through with this. What will your subjects say if they find out you not only lost a war to a teenager, but that you lost a war over _lawn furniture_?"

"Well, it was _rainbow-colored_ lawn furniture…"

"Who cares! Lawn furniture is lawn furniture!"

"But I can't back down! I, Théoden King, will not be overcome by Boromir of Gondor, an adolescent boy!"

"You know what, fine!" Faramir finally shouted, completely and utterly done with it all. "Have a war! Whatever! But when Gondor beats you, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Faramir stalked right past the king of Rohan, out of the tent, and started his long journey back to Gondor.

Stupid brother. Stupid king of Rohan. And stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Denethor for leaving Boromir in charge.

How in the world was Faramir supposed to get out of this one?


End file.
